


Here, Kitty

by froggy (therealfroggy), Niektete (therealfroggy)



Series: Pirate Trilogy [2]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Prison Break
Genre: Kink, M/M, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:09:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/froggy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/Niektete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Yo Ho, a Pirate's Life for Me". Michael wakes up and what the heck did he do last night? And what happens to people who don't do their job aboard the Black Pearl?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here, Kitty

Michael slowly blinked the sleep out of his eyes, yawning and stretching in the bed. _Haven't slept like this for ages._

As he squirmed luxuriously in the bed, he suddenly became aware of the covers tangled around him. They were most definitely not the smooth silk he favoured. They weren't even starched cotton. Linen?

And they smelt heavily of sex. Of sweat and certain body fluids.

Michael's eyes snapped open. How drunk, exactly, had he got last night? Had he gone home with some stranger?

_“Haul, ye lazy sacks o' dung!”_

Now why did that shout not sound like the guys picking up his trash Tuesday mornings?

_Jack. Rum. Cow. Bunk. Oh shit._

It all came back to him in a flood of embarrassment and panic. He was on a ship. He was on a ship with some guy calling himself a pirate, who he'd fucked last night, and there was a cow on deck. That much he remembered, though why the cow detail seemed to stick better than what they'd talked about, he couldn't say.

“Jack?” he cautiously called, throwing back the covers and sitting up. “You here?”

No reply. Shaking his head to clear the hangover-fog from his brain, Michael scrambled around the floor for his jeans. He finally found both his jeans, shirt and socks, but his boxer shorts and shoes were very much MIA.

Hesitantly, Michael went to the door and opened it. A glare hit his eyes, and he had to shade his face with a hand to protect his eyes. When his eyes finally adjusted themselves to the light, he looked around to take in his surroundings. And felt his jaw drop unavoidably to the wooden floor beneath his feet.

More than a dozen men in dirty shirts or without shirts at all were moving around the ship. They were pulling rope, shifting crates, scrubbing the deck ( _Isn't that called swabbing?_ ) or drinking from tin cups, wiping their brows. They all wore clothing similar to what he'd seen in the bar and on Jack on the night before, and most had their hair tied back with scarves or thin leather braids.

“Watch it, mate,” one man grumbled, shoving past Michael carrying a small barrel.

“Sorry, sorry,” Michael stuttered, moving out of the man's way only to bump into another. Stumbling with apologies, he tried making his way across the deck.

“What do you think you're doing, darlin'?”

Michael whirled around. Jack the pirate was standing there looking at him, his shirt temptingly open and his grin glittering in the sun.

“Trying to find you, actually,” Michael said, blushing at the pirate's knowing look. “Do you know when we'll, um, get to another port? I kinda need to get back...”

“To another port? Darlin', we just left Tortuga,” Jack laughed, beginning to circle Michael in a rather unnerving fashion. “And as I said... last night... it's get off or stay on.”

Michael gave a start. “Stay on? But I've got to get back!”

“We're docking in about five or six days, but only for supplies,” Jack said, turning to swagger off towards the aft end of the ship. “But I suppose you could always try to swim back...”

Michael hurried after him, mindful of the splinters he would probably get in his feet. “But you can talk to the captain, right? If there's another ship nearby, maybe I could -”

“Darlin', there's no other ship around that we want to meet,” Jack said, shooing a man away from the rudder and searching his wide sash for something. “And as for speaking to the captain...”

He grinned at Michael and took a small bow. “Captain Jack Sparrow at your service, darlin'.”

Michael felt unwell. Stuck. On a ship, with a non-homosexual pirate who, despite his orientation, would fuck men. And a lot of other men of whom he had no knowledge at all.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” he mumbled, leaning on the railing for support.

“Well, you haven't had breakfast yet, have you?” Jack said, looking at a very old-fashioned compass in his hand and turning the rudder a little. “Go back to the cabin, and I'll send something over.”

Michael managed to make his way back to where he'd come from, but as higher waves hit the ship he had some troubles keeping his footing. Once inside, he sat down on the bunk and stared straight ahead, trying to get a grip on reality (which seemed to be slipping away at an alarmingly quick rate).

_Shit. Something has to be done._

“Are you the cap'n's guest?”

Michael turned around hazily, looking at the boy standing in the door. He looked around 16 or so, and flashed Michael a semi-toothless grin before setting down a rough wooden tray on the desk, then left, closing the door behind him.

The tray, it turned out, held cold, salty meat, a tin cup of water (miraculously not spilled by the ship's movements), a small loaf of bread and some cheese. Michael ate it all without thought, trying to get his mind to wrap around the fact that he was stuck on this ship for at least another five days.

_And with your first one night stand for half a decade or so. That's an embarrassing situation if there ever was one. Good work, Michael; really good work._

*

Michael spent a few hours on his own, padding around the ship in a helpless manner while he tried to get used to the sway of the craft with the waves. He did his best to keep out of everyone's way and do nothing, but when a one-legged man threw him a rope and told him to help with the sails, his do-nothing-do-nothing-wrong policy went down the drain.

A gust of heavy wind hit the sails, and Michael, caught unaware, promptly lost balance and fell, yanked off his feet by the pull on the rope he was clinging to. He heard a nasty ripping sound, and looked up just in time to see the rope fall to the deck before him.

“Ye bloody landlubber!” one of the men shouted. Michael flinched. Landlubber? Would that be directed at him?

“What's all this commotion, then, you rotten scallywags?”

It was Jack, Michael noticed with relief. He didn't know what he'd done, but he was pretty sure that metal ring had previously been part of the sail, and the way the other pirates were looking at him wasn't exactly making him feel confident...

“'E tore the sail!” said a skinny man with unwashed, tangled hair.

Not that any of them seemed to know what the word “wash” meant.

“It was an accident,” Michael said, blushing slightly. Jack was frowning in that drunken-looking manner again, and it reminded Michael forcibly of the night before. “I fell.”

“Darlin', you'll have to learn how to walk if you're staying aboard,” the captain said, about to turn away again. “And someone mend that sail.”

“Cap'n!” one of the men yelled. “What about the ten strokes?”

Michael felt a heavy lump of ice settle in his stomach. Ten strokes? Of what, and on whom?

“Ten strokes?” The captain sounded as ignorant as Michael felt, but far less concerned.

“Of the Cat,” the man insisted again. Michael could see he was rather big, too, and only had one eye. At least, the other one was covered by a black patch. “Cap'n, you set the punishment yourself. Anyone who imp... impoh... uh, hinders the Pearl, gets ten strokes.”

“Right,” Jack said, turning back with great swaying. “Always keep forgetting that. Well, then. Sorry, darlin', but it looks like it'll be the Cat.”

Three pirates moved forward. Two held Michael while the third roughly removed his shirt, then they dragged him to the mast and tied his hands together while he was embracing the wood so that he was almost stretched around the wide structure.

“Hey!” Michael said, feeling panic warring with petulance. “Give me a break, guys! I didn't even ask to hold that rope! I don't know how to sail a ship! Come on!”

“Oh, there will be a break,” a Jamaican (judging by his accent) pirate said. “Likely your back.”

Michael was struggling against his bonds, but that accomplished nothing but chafing his wrists. _Shit! Someone get me out of here!_

“Ah, won't be much fun anyway,” one pirate grumbled. Michael could no longer see them, as he was tied to the mast, but he could hear them. “You know how the Cap'n is with the Cat.”

“Mph. A floggin's a floggin',” another commented.

_Flogging? Flogging! Crazy, half-assed – they can't just beat me to death!_

Michael was getting panicky when he heard Jack's voice again. “Hold still, darlin', because this is going to hurt.”

Michael was about to snap where he could shove his stillness, but his voice died in a sharp gasp as something lashed across his back. It stung, but didn't hurt like he'd thought it would.

“The Cat o' Nine Tails,” someone grumbled near his ear. “Supposed to hurt a lot more.”

Michael realized he was utterly fucked when the pirates felt they had to explain to him what was whipping across his back a second time, now.

The thing was, Jack was either holding off not to hurt Michael, or he was a really bad whipper. The flogging hurt, but not enough to make him scream or even whimper. He already knew it wouldn't break the skin.

And the worst part? The thought of Jack whipping him was turning him on. True, he'd always imagined a black riding whip when he'd toyed with the idea, but the Cat wasn't that bad and really... _Oh, that stings so good..._ he loved the idea of being disciplined.

“Nngh!” Michael bit his lip when he felt the lash brought down across his back for the seventh time. _Harder, Jack!_

Eight. Michael's growing erection rubbed against the mast's coarse wood and he scrunched his face up to conceal the grimace of pleasure threatening to spread there.

Nine. The engineer could all but feel Jack hard inside him like he had been last night, calloused fingers on his skin, and he could barely transform his moan into a sound of pain instead of pleasure.

_Ten._ Michael gasped as he came, the sting of the whip replaced by a burning pain – it would seem Jack had decided to deliver one real blow after all. Still, even the agony of his skin tearing under the leather strings couldn't impede his climax, rushing from his groin and head simultaneously to explode in his whole body.

_Jack!_

“Oooh,” Michael groaned as he came tumbling down again, the receding rush of adrenaline giving way to pain. Lots and lots of pain.

“Right, then. You lot go run the ship,” Jack told a burly man who seemed to have some authority. Then he turned to Michael and drew a slim dagger from his boot.

“Come on, then, darlin',” he said, cutting the ropes holding Michael's hands. The engineer collapsed slowly to the deck, heaving for breath. Christ, that stung!

Jack hauled Michael up, draping one of his shoulders around his own ditto, and set off for his cabin. Michael was torn between wanting to get away from the other men and worrying about anyone seeing the sticky spot on his trousers. He was embarrassingly aware that he wasn't wearing any underwear.

Jack deposited Michael on the bunk, on his stomach (for which Michael was infinitely grateful). Michael closed his eyes and let himself sink as deep as possible into the mattress. Then he felt something cool being applied to his back, and it stung like all hell for a moment before cooling down. His flaming skin seemed to ease up a little on him.

“Jack,” Michael said, groaning a little. “Why did you -”

“Pirate's law, darlin',” was the amused reply. “Besides, better me than my first mate. I never was any good at flogging.”

Michael sighed. “You could have at least made it hurt so I didn't get all...” He didn't know what to say. Did Jack even know about kink play?

“I was wondering about that,” the pirate said, and Michael could hear the frown in his voice. “Is that what I think it was?” He poked Michael's thigh, apparently indicating the stain.

“Mmmhm,” Michael murmured, the sting easing with whatever Jack had put on his back and the post-satisfactory haze trying to sneak its way back into his brain. “You must be hot when you punish people.” He looked up at Jack, grinning at him.

Jack shrugged. “It's the Caribbean. It's always bloody hot here.”

Michael laughed in spite of himself. The language problems again.

“No, I meant, I liked it when you whipped me,” he said, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his hand. “Very kinky.”

Jack looked like he didn't understand the words, but the meaning was clear, even to him.

“Darlin', you never cease to amaze me,” he said, smirking. “Can't imagine where you come from, but you must be a strange people.”

“Oh, we are,” Michael purred, before getting slowly to hands and knees on the bed. “And we like pirates. Really, really... _like_ them.”

_I'll show you just how much._

Jack adjusted himself on the bunk, getting into a more comfortable position resting against the wall. He stretched his legs out, and Michael moved between them, eager to finish what he'd started the night before.

“Arrgh,” Michael said playfully, deftly opening the pirate's trousers and pushing them out of the way.

_Mm, I see why you're captain._

Jack made a sound halfway between moan and strangulation when Michael began lapping gently at the head of the pirate's erection. He swirled his tongue around the tip, then sucked just the head into his mouth. Jack groaned.

“Oh, darlin', so sorry about those gashes,” Jack gasped, thrusting up into the willing mouth that surrounded him.

“Mmm,” Michael hummed, making Jack shudder. “And you're sorry you forgot our anniversary, too.”

Jack didn't have time to look confused. Michael attacked him viciously, sucking hard and working his tongue over the sensitive areas. He was going to make Jack come, and hard. He was a man on a mission.

Moaning loudly, he moved one hand up to clutch at the pirate's thigh. He looked up until his eyes met Jack's, then blinked slowly and hollowed his cheeks, sucking harder yet. Jack threw his head back and made another strangulation sound.

Jack was groaning and panting, loudly. When the sun-kissed hips began bucking up to meet his mouth, Michael vigorously turned his full attentions to the head and clenched his lips around it. The salty taste exploded on his tongue, and he sucked more eagerly, collecting every last drop while Jack moaned and muttered and fucked Michael's mouth through his orgasm.

_Harder, Jack!_

“Darlin'!”

Michael licked the twitching cock a few more times, then climbed a little higher on the bed and began nipping his way up the pirate's body.

“Calypto herself wouldn't do that as well as you,” Jack panted, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Calypto? No one he knew, obviously, but the way Jack said her name made the engineer decide to take the statement as a compliment. He wanted to press himself against the other man in some very un-manly cuddling, but decided against it and instead laid down next to him.

“Calypto probably doesn't love the taste of a pirate with a huge... whip,” Michael commented, smiling smugly. He knew he was good at giving head. He'd been told so numerous times.

“Hmph,” Jack replied, sweat on his forehead and upper lip.

*

When Michael woke up later, he realized he still had at least four days to go. Four more days with a good chance of getting whipped, fucked, or both.

He didn't want to admit that he preferred the combination by far.


End file.
